


Retribution

by N N West (raynewton)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 14:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raynewton/pseuds/N%20N%20West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle wants to leave CI5</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

RETRIBUTION by NN WEST 

He was cold. Chillingly, bone-numbingly cold. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the man in the hospital bed, savagely and deliberately damaged but alive. The decision had been easy. The nurse was here with her gift and her promise of an alibi. It was time to go.

 

The street was deserted as Doyle rang Cowley's doorbell. There was a few minutes delay then the Old Man's voice barked a demand for security codes; he smiled at the familiar impatient tone and identified himself.

The door swung open and Cowley frowned at him. "Trouble, 4.5?"

"Not as such, sir, it's more of a personal matter, but I do need to speak to you right away."

"Can't it wait until morning?" Pale eyes studied Doyle's face for a moment, then he nodded abruptly. "Ach, you'd best come in."

Cowley led the way into a comfortable but austere sitting room. "You know where the scotch is," he said. "And you needn't be stingy. If the problem brings you to my door at this hour of the night, I have a feeling I'm going to need it." A wintry smile crossed his face as he took the glass Doyle held out and waved the younger man to a chair by the fire.

"It's not easy," Doyle said abruptly, raising his glass in a silent toast before swallowing a mouthful of scotch.

Cowley sat back in his chair, sipping at his own glass. "I'm listening."

Doyle nodded. "You know I passed my latest evaluation, but you also know that I have two, maybe three more years on the squad. The heart surgery… Well, I needn't go into details. I have to think about what I'm going to do."

"I do understand," Cowley nodded. "You did well to recover as fully as you have. In any other walk of life you would be fully fit but CI5 makes greater demands. You've been thinking about your future plans."

"Yeah. I know I could go on a bit longer, but I don't want to risk falling down on the job. I've faced facts, and the sooner I get started the better."

"Ah." Cowley held out his empty glass and steepled his fingers, watching as Doyle turned to pour another generous measure. "I can't say I'm surprised. Have you given any thought as to what you'll do?"

"That's really why I'm here." 

Cowley stiffened, hearing a sudden tension in the quiet voice. "Spit it out, man," he said impatiently, tossing back his drink and setting the empty glass down. "It won't get any easier for the waiting."

"Okay." A faint smile crossed Doyle's lips. "The thing is - I want to take Bodie with me." 

"Absolutely not! I've spoken to his doctors, and there's no reason why he shouldn't make a complete recovery. He's too valuable to lose."

"Oh, he'll recover. But I'm asking you, please let him go."

"You seem very sure that it's down to me whether he goes or stays." 

"Because I know that it is." Doyle rose and filled their glasses for the third time. "He respects you, he's grateful for the chance you gave him, and he won't leave without your permission."

Cowley sat back, his eyes thoughtful as he studied Doyle's face. It would be a pity to lose this man, but in truth he had expected it for some time. Despite Doyle's courage and determination the medical facts could not be denied. He would have to accept the loss of this valuable asset, but to compound the damage by losing Bodie too… He shook his head, tossed back the last of his drink, and reached to set the glass on the table. To his surprise his fingers seemed a little clumsy, but he was tired and he could have done without Doyle's unexpected visit.

"I need Bodie in CI5 for as long as he's fit to serve," he said sharply. "I'll arrange for your resignation to be processed in the morning, Doyle, and in the meantime I'll bid you goodnight."

"That's your last word, sir?" Doyle, surprisingly, had settled back in his chair.

"It is. Now…" Cowley broke off, puzzled. He had intended to rise to his feet, but his body was refusing to cooperate and the room seemed slightly hazy. When Doyle next spoke his voice sounded odd, as though coming from a greater distance.

"I know you mean that, and I'm sorry you do By the way, you've been drugged. There's no point in fighting it. I need you to listen." Doyle smiled faintly. "I'm about to commit the villain's classic mistake by explaining to you just what I'm doing and why. If this was a film the hero would come bursting in at the last minute and save the day - but unfortunately for you, your hero is hooked up to a hospital bed, and you're part of the reason he's there."

Cowley looked up, startled. 

"I know what you did. I have no problem with finally bringing Coogan's outfit down - he managed to wriggle out of his just deserts by ratting on some of his rivals, served a ludicrously short term in prison, then carried on merrily just as before. Only he wanted revenge, on me and CI5. I can even understand you setting Bodie up, though you should have told me; but you just had to go that little bit too far. So you got a couple more names, information that you'd probably have sweated out of Coogan or one of his men in interrogation, but you left Bodie in too long."

"The end…"

"… justifies the means. Sometimes, maybe. But in this case and quite a few others you've stepped over the line. That poor sod Tinkerbell - we never even found out his real name. God forgive us, we thought he was a joke. Diana Molner - remember her? Okay, you had very little choice about the CI5 safe houses, but the train? You were the only one who knew and you gave us up. She died; Bodie and I might've died too. Was it worth it? Then you pulled our backup on the Bladon case, and…" 

Doyle leaned forward, his expression intent. "The thing is, I've got this reputation. Bleedin'-heart Doyle. What is it Bodie says? I'd blame myself for the invention of gunpowder. And Bodie, cold-hearted ex-merc, follows orders, doesn't know the meaning of conscience. See, what you never understood about Bodie is that the things he saw, yes even some of the things he did in Africa haunt him. He's been trying to make up for it ever since. He thought that you gave him that chance. He's grateful. He's loyal. I know that he'll never walk away without your blessing, and I know now that you won't give it."

He rose. "So you have to die. He'll mourn you, but he'll move on, with me. If there is any suspicion about your death there are a thousand suspects. I'm sorry it came to this, sir. I'm sorry I learned that I'm capable of murder after all. It's worth it to keep him safe."

Doyle stood quietly, watching as Cowley's disbelieving eyes closed for the last time, listened as his breathing slowed, quietened and finally stopped. Moving swiftly he pulled on gloves, cleared away the glasses, washed them, and pressed one into Cowley's hand, carefully positioning the fingerprints before adding a small measure of scotch and setting it on the table. He cast a critical professional eye over the scene. There would be traces of his presence, he knew, but he had visited Cowley's home several times. Satisfied there was nothing obviously incriminating he bent over to check pulse and breathing. All was still. Death was a familiar sight to him, but he checked again, determined not to make the mistake of taking anything for granted. Then, with one last glance at the peaceful face of the man he had respected for years he let himself out of the house, setting the alarms as he went, using his skills to indicate that they had been set internally.  
It was so cold.

 

Doyle returned to the hospital, moving swiftly through the corridors to the room where Bodie lay. As he entered the nurse rose from the chair beside the bed, an Angolan woman who as a child had survived the massacre at her village due to the protection of a young merc whose face she had never forgotten. 

"He will waken soon, I think," she murmured with a reassuring pat to Doyle's arm. 

Doyle nodded, grateful both for the alibi she offered and the drug she had provided. As she slipped from the room he leaned over the bed, stroking Bodie's cheek gently.

"Come on, sunshine, time to wake up," he whispered.

Impossibly long lashes flickered and rose. As he gazed into confused blue eyes Doyle smiled. He was warm again.


End file.
